


Hot Mess

by DeceitfulHonesty



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: AU, College Roommates, Established Relationship, F/F, sorta?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-16
Updated: 2016-01-16
Packaged: 2018-05-14 05:58:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5731933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeceitfulHonesty/pseuds/DeceitfulHonesty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt from tumblr, requesting a Skimmons fic of "Person A: can play 12 different instruments, got accepted into Harvard, is organized. Person B: once ate 15 cold hot pockets in a row, tripped over their shoelaces, claims they can fight 2000 bees" OTP post.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hot Mess

    “Are you alphabetizing your library books?”

  
    “Of course not,” Jemma retorted, “I’m organizing them by subject matter and date. What are you doing over there?”

  
    Daisy was repeatedly poking buttons on the microwave, as if trying to punch in some secret code to make it work again. “I’m trying to make myself dinner, but this ancient microwave seems to be fighting me.” She slapped it for good measure.

  
    Jemma rolled her eyes. “You’re the one who insisted upon buying a microwave out of the back of your hacker friend’s van.”

  
    “It was a steal!” Daisy insisted, “And now that I think about it, that’s probably literal,” she mumbled under her breath.

  
    “I’m going to get the mail. Maybe you can call Fitz and have him fix it tomorrow,” Jemma suggested. She grabbed her key and headed down to their mailbox. She pulled out the stack of envelopes and flipped through them to see if there was anything important. Bills, bills, bills, something from Bobbi and Hunter, more bills. She paused on the last one: something from Harvard? Her heart started to race. She wanted to tear it open right then, but she should wait for Daisy.

  
    Jemma slipped through the door of the apartment and nearly tripped over pieces of the microwave on the floor.

  
    “Daisy, I hope you’re planning to clean this up,” she shouted. Translation: you better clean this up STAT or you’re sleeping on the couch for a week. She tiptoed over the chunks of metal and plastic littering the floor and made her way to the kitchen. Perched on the edge of the table sat Daisy, glaring at the mountain of Hot Pockets on the plate in her lap while munching on one.

  
    “Gave up on the microwave did you?” Jemma teased.

  
    Daisy just grunted and continued chewing her cold Hot Pocket.

  
    “Are you really planning on eating all those?” Jemma asked.

  
    Daisy frowned. “I’m really hungry. What you don’t think I can?”

  
    “I never said you can’t. I’m saying you shouldn't.”

  
    Daisy responded by shoving another into her mouth and sticking her tongue out at Jemma. Jemma exasperatedly sighed.

  
    “You know, those could last at least the rest of the week,” Jemma pointed out.

  
    Daisy shrugged. “They were gonna go bad,” she replied through a mouth full of Hot Pocket.

  
    Jemma wrinkled her nose. “I don’t think Hot Pockets can go bad, given all the preservatives and artificial ingredients in them.”

  
    Daisy ignored her and continued working on the pile in front of her. Jemma plopped down in one of their kitchen chairs and started opening the mail. Daisy apparently forgot to pay the cable bill last month, so they were going to have to pay the late fee. The letter from Bobbi and Hunter was a very late Christmas card (probably because Hunter was in charge of sending those out this year. No wonder he and Daisy got on so well). Jemma was just pulling out the letter from Harvard, an empty plate was slammed on the table in front of her.

  
    “Bam! Guess who just ate fifteen Hot Pockets,” Daisy announced triumphantly, “What did you do today?” she challenged.

  
    Jemma perused the letter in front of her before answering. “I...got into Harvard.”

  
    Daisy’s face fell. “Shit. I mean no, that’s great! That’s awesome! Just makes my achievement a little less exciting.”

  
    Jemma chuckled. “Harvard in no way compares to eating fifteen Hot Pockets, I assure you.”

  
    Daisy swept her up if a tight hug, pulling her out of her seat, “But seriously, that’s amazing! Was it the fact that you can play like twelve instruments that sold them?”

  
    “I can only play four instruments.”

  
    “Still! We should celebrate! We should go out to dinner tomorrow, or I should— I...I’m gonna be sick,” Daisy announced, suddenly turning green and darting towards the bathroom.

  
    Jemma sighed and gave her a moment before trailing after her and waiting outside the bathroom door. She heard the telltale sounds of retching moments later.

  
    “This is why I said you _shouldn’t_ eat fifteen Hot Pockets,” Jemma informed her.

  
    Daisy groaned on the other side of the door. “Stupid microwave. If they weren’t cold, this wouldn’t have happened.”

  
    Jemma didn’t think that she should point out that, regardless of the temperature of the Hot Pocket, eating fifteen in ten minutes is not a good idea. “Maybe instead of fighting the next microwave, just call someone to fix it.”

  
    “I’ll fight any appliance! I’ll even fight like….2,000 bees,” Daisy grumbled, her voice echoing off the toilet.

  
    “Why would you need to fight 2,000 bees?”

  
    Daisy groaned loudly. “I don’t know! Sorry I ruined your moment.”

  
    “You didn’t ruin anything. We have plenty of time to celebrate,” Jemma reassured her, “Would you like some ginger ale to settle your stomach?”

  
    “I love you.”

  
    “I love you too, darling,” Jemma replied, going to grab a glass. She opted for one of their plastic souvenir cups, knowing Daisy’s track record with breakables. As she poured the drink, she heard the bathroom door crack open. Daisy shuffled out, looking a bit pale, but otherwise fine. She took the cup graciously and pecked Jemma on the cheek, before heading into the living room.

  
    “I still haven’t figured out why you haven’t dumped me. I mean, you’ve got all your shit together: a great job, a lot of skills, just got into Harvard,” Daisy called back to her, “And I’m basically a hot me— Fuck!”

  
    Jemma heard a crash and ran out into the living room. Daisy was sprawled on the ground, soaked in ginger ale and surrounded by broken pieces of the microwave that she had yet to clean up. Daisy seemed unharmed and grumbled more curses under her breath as she tried to shove some pieces out of the way so she could stand. The plastic cup was apparently a good call.

  
    Jemma couldn't help but chuckle. She grabbed Daisy’s arm and hauled her up from the wreckage, pulling her in close enough to give her a quick kiss.

  
    “Yes, but you're _my_ hot mess,” Jemma whispered. Daisy’s face lit up with a blinding smile and she leaned her forehead against Jemma’s, just relishing in the closeness.

  
    “But, I sincerely hope you brushed your teeth.”

**Author's Note:**

> I don't even know what to say about this. I love these dorks and this post is perfect for them.   
> Check out my writing tumblr and throw some prompts at me: sad-trash-writing


End file.
